


Heart's Content (Harpstring Moon)

by MxMearcstapa



Series: Lunar Haruspex: A Blue Lions Story [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: And she is SASSY!, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Ashen Demon, BYLETH LEARNED DIMITRI'S NAME, Blood and Injury, But FINALLY there's some stuff happening, Canon Expansion, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Dimitri has Duscur flashbacks, Dimitri has tragically low self-esteem, Duscur (Fire Emblem), Eventual Romance, Except they're still figuring it out, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fist Fights, Flashbacks, Gen, Hearts, Jeralt and Byleth bonding, Magic, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Minor whump, Missing Scenes, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, No lewd handholding but there is some arm-touching, Nosebleed, Oblivious My Unit | Byleth, Other, POV Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, POV My Unit | Byleth, PTSD flashbacks, Pre-Timeskip Dimileth, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Protective Jeralt Reus Eisner, Slow Burn, Sothis is back!, Tragedy of Duscur (Fire Emblem), Trauma, Well-meaning Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, White Magic, Whump, actual game dialogue, dimileth, gameplay retelling, italicized oh, please someone give this boy a hug, the dumb babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26846896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxMearcstapa/pseuds/MxMearcstapa
Summary: The Ashen Demon, they called her. A mercenary trained by the mercenary of mercenaries, Jeralt the Blade Breaker. That she could appear so unnerving while standing still in the presence of allies could only be a boon—their enemies would not receive her quite so calmly. Aside from that, she had ample experience in the field, and her tactics were extraordinary. She made an art of fighting. And…Dimitri had to admit, he was excited to catch a glimpse of her in combat again, as much to learn from her as simply to watch her form.Wait. Was that inappropriate? He meant it purely in an educational sense.In which the Blue Lions receive their first mission—to dispose of some bandits—and Dimitri and Byleth both worry about the month ahead, Byleth talks to her father and Sothis about their chances of success, and Dimitri reconsiders his initial assessment of his professor.
Relationships: Blue Lions Students & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Blue Lions Students, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Jeralt Reus Eisner, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Series: Lunar Haruspex: A Blue Lions Story [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584496
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70





	Heart's Content (Harpstring Moon)

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry this took so long to update <3 Hopefully it was worth the wait.
> 
> CW: mild blood, violence, anxiety, trauma, flashbacks to Duscur, minor whump

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows in the Archbishop’s audience chamber, casting broken colors on the floor. Back straight and standing tall, Dimitri waited next to the Blue Lions professor for details of their mission for the month. Beside him, the professor stood still as a statue—until the moment the Archbishop’s aide entered the room. At his appearance, she came to life, squaring her shoulders and staring dead ahead. Dimitri glanced at her curiously, before the aide, Seteth, cleared his throat. He could not be certain with the professor’s blank expression, but she seemed almost tense.

  
Seteth looked between them with a deep frown. Though Dimitri had seen little of the man so far, he reminded Dimitri strongly of Gustave, an instructor from his youth: sharp as a knife, stern as steel, and pious as the saints themselves. With no introduction—and an unusually contemptuous glare at the professor—Seteth tersely explained their mission: at the word of the Knights of Seiros, they would be dispatched to real battle.

To “subdue some bandits.”

  
To take lives.

  
To kill.

  
Dimitri’s heart sank. He should have expected it would come to this—that sooner or later, they would have to kill someone. He had simply hoped it would be later. It was an important mission, to be sure. Possibly even the bandits had sound motivation, driven by hardship into a life harder still. But that did not excuse their actions, and left unchecked, those bandits would hurt innocent people.

  
And _that_ was unacceptable.

  
Seteth left them, striding purposefully away, and Dimitri turned to face the professor with a smile. She looked back at him with her hair-raising stare, face a mask. The tension in her shoulders remained.

  
“This will be our first true battle,” he said. “I’m looking forward to fighting alongside you, Professor.”

  
Insomuch as he was looking forward to fighting in a real battle at all. The professor narrowed her eyes, her stare piercing as an arrow. She might not have been very expressive, but when her countenance did change, the effect was profound. Dimitri felt the back of his neck tingle, the sound of his pulse light in his ears. The feeling of being watched enveloped him again. Though it had not even been a moon they had known each other, Dimitri would have sworn the professor’s expressions had intensified, as though something had awakened within her.

  
Mentally, he shook himself. He was letting his imagination run rampant. But goddess help him, he could no longer bear the weight of her gaze. Dimitri looked just past her head for a reprieve and smiled a little wider.

  
The Ashen Demon, they called her. A mercenary trained by the mercenary of mercenaries, Jeralt the Blade Breaker. That she could appear so unnerving while standing still in the presence of allies could only be a boon—their enemies would not receive her quite so calmly. Aside from that, she had ample experience in the field, and her tactics were extraordinary. She made an art of fighting. And…Dimitri had to admit, he was excited to catch a glimpse of her in combat again, as much to learn from her as simply to watch her form.

  
Wait. Was that inappropriate? He meant it purely in an educational sense.

  
In any case, he had not been able to observe her during the mock battle. They had spent much of the time apart, and when they did regroup—after she had taken the brunt of a hit meant for him—the professor had let the students take point. 

  
This battle, however, was going to be different. It was clear by the enthusiasm with which they approached fighting that most of his classmates had never taken a life before. That was going to change quickly, and goddess willing, it would not weigh on them the way it weighed on him the first time.

  
The way it weighed on him still.

  
With the professor, he was confident the Blue Lions would all survive the battle at least; for that, he was more grateful than he could convey.

  
And again, he reminded himself with a pained but resolute breath, this was to protect those who could not protect themselves. To learn how to improve upon that protection.

  
Dimitri looked back at the professor. She was looking away, her arms crossed. Though they had only fought together in a limited capacity so far, Dimitri had never once seen her hesitate in battle. Perhaps he could learn that surety from her as well.

  
Even if he wasn’t certain that he wanted to.

  
“I’m a bit concerned,” she said. Dimitri nearly did a double take.

  
She was…concerned? Was her confidence lacking in her own ability or in that of her students? But, no, she couldn’t be doubting her skill. He had seen how she carried herself—it had to be them. Why? While it was true they were still learning, they weren’t _completely_ untrained, nor unprepared. He himself had seen true combat, alongside the professor even, and Felix had fought in a real battle at least once—and furthermore, they had been the victors of the mock battle.

  
He eyed her curiously once again. “During the mock battle, your commands were thoughtful and thorough, as was your strategy. With you on our side, I’m confident we will prevail.”

  
She didn’t look at him. She, who made constant and unmerciful eye contact, refused to face him. Dimitri was astounded. She did not believe they would succeed. So be it, then. If that was the case then, they needed to train harder in a hurry.

  
“It seems we have some time to spare before our departure. Let’s use this opportunity to prepare as best we can,” he said, walking away. There was still time before their next lesson to get a little practice in. He moved towards the staircase and turned to make conversation with the professor before he noticed she was not beside him. Dimitri looked back. The professor was standing where he had left her, staring after him. He took a step back towards her, apprehension growing.

  
“Is…is something the matter, Professor?”

  
Her face betrayed nothing internal, her indigo eyes unblinking and fixed on him. Then, she tilted her head and uttered a single word:

  
“Dimitri.”

  
_Oh_. Warmth coursed through him. _She does remember my name._

  
He smiled brightly. “Yes, Professor?”

  
She nodded, shoulders sagging slightly, as they had during her initial lesson when she made no move to speak and Dimitri suggested she first watch them train. A gesture of relief. Until he confirmed it, she had not believed she had his name correct, had she? The professor approached him. He watched her brow crease, the corners of her mouth dropping. Perhaps his imagination ran unchecked again, or perhaps it was the colors from the window, but Dimitri thought he saw a faint blush on her cheeks.

  
Quietly, she asked, “The names of the others…will you help me with them?”

  
It had been difficult for her to say; her expression told him as much. In a way, he found it almost ironic, what troubled her and what didn’t. Like him, she seemed more at ease with a weapon in hand, the comfort of a lifetime of muscle memory translating to assurance. But words and facial expressions she seemed to find more difficult. Dimitri empathized. They did not come readily to him either, and though he had worked for them to be passable, some days he was uncertain of the results. So far, he had found a smile to be the most broadly well-received.

  
He made certain to smile again as he responded.

  
“I’d be happy to, Professor.”

  
She nodded once, inspecting her bracers rather than look at him. Dimitri maintained the smile just in case the professor looked up.

  
She did not.

  
Not at first.

  
“We’ll inform the rest of the class of the mission at the start of next lecture,” she said, then flinched visibly before looking into his eyes. Dimitri opened his mouth to ask if she was all right, but surprise at the sudden softness of her gaze halted his words. In the same cool tone she used for everything, she spoke, “And thank you.”

  
Another rush of warmth surged through him. That was without a doubt the first time she had thanked him. This time, his smile came unbidden.

  
“You are most welcome, Professor.” He offered his arm to her again; only after he did so did he worry the gesture was perhaps too forward. He could not very well take it back at this point, not without risking rudeness. But she had taken his arm after the mock battle—perhaps this was acceptable? Dimitri resolved not to make a habit of it either way. “May I walk you to your next destination?”

  
To his surprise, she linked her arm in his with a curt nod. “It’s not far. My father’s office.”

  
It was not far at all. It was across the hallway. Dimitri felt a bit foolish having offered his arm—even if she had taken it willingly, and wasn’t that a marvel within itself—he should have asked first where she was going, but in his eagerness to be useful to her, he had acted before thinking. The professor said nothing further to him as they walked.

  
Jeralt was sitting at his desk in the captain’s quarters. At their approach, he looked up and smiled.

  
“Hey, kid—what on…” He trailed off and fixed Dimitri with a glare so cold it made Faerghus winters seem mild in comparison. For a moment, Dimitri couldn’t fathom what he had done to earn such a look and then realized with a jolt that linking arms with the professor was _absolutely too forward_ and did not look as innocent as he had intended it to be—especially to her father.

  
Now he knew where she had learned that stare. Dimitri released the professor’s arm with an embarrassed immediacy. “Right then! I’ll see you in class, Professor! Captain Jeralt, good to see you.”

  
He bowed. Jeralt acknowledged him with a disdainful grunt.

  
The professor faced him. “See you in class, Dimitri.”

  
Dimitri flushed, unable to keep from smiling once again at her use of his name. Before he could receive another chilling look from Jeralt, Dimitri left.

  
It was a trivial thing, his name. It should not have made him so happy. And yet, his heart felt light, like a great step forward had been taken. The professor had chosen to confide in him. To rely on him for something that clearly embarrassed her.

  
It might have been something small.

  
But he was not going to let her down.

* * *

Byleth watched her house leader— _Dimitri_ , she repeated to herself—retreat quickly down the hallway, the blue of his cape swaying behind him as he descended the stairs. He had left in a hurry, and she did not understand why.

  
She did not like not understanding.

  
It could not have been something she said. She had not said anything to him since he offered his arm but where she was headed. Her father’s reaction, perhaps? He seemed pleased to see her until he noticed Dimitri beside her. Could his scorn for nobility extend so far it produced such a reaction at the sight of a noble?

  
Or did it have something to do with their arms touching?

  
In her mind, Sothis laughed. Byleth tried not to outwardly react. She knew admittedly very little about the etiquette of interaction, but being the sole witness to a presence unknown to others seemed like something that was uncommon at best. She had already had too many conversations that resulted in strange looks from others. She did not wish to add to them.

  
“There will not be a dull moment with you around, will there?” Sothis snickered. As though she had anywhere else to go. Byleth ignored her. She had not dreamt the girl after all, or at least so Sothis protested. She claimed to be alive “within the confines of Byleth’s heart.” Whatever that meant. Unseen and unheard by anyone else. To speak with Sothis, Byleth had but to “listen to her heart,” and Sothis would be there.

  
She did not recall listening for Sothis just now.

  
The entire situation reminded her of the Archbishop’s words: telling Byleth to “let her heart choose” a house, or that there was “something special” inside her heart. Byleth felt a weight in her chest and an itch at the back of her neck. She was already tired of hearing the Archbishop mention the organ. Apparently all that it contained was a small girl with an attitude as large as the throne she sat on.

  
Her father’s eyes still lingered on the door, a hard look in them she had seen only a few times before. Byleth moved further back into the room, nearer to him.

  
“One meal and you’re bosom buddies, eh? Better not try anything funny, or else…” he grumbled.

  
Byleth blinked. He was dissatisfied with her spending time with her students? Hadn’t he praised her for doing the very same after the mock battle? She could not teach them without spending time with them, and though the monastery was large, it was also enclosed. She could not go two feet without tripping over one student or another.

  
Her father looked at her, expression falling. “It’s not you, kid. Just the rambling suspicions of an old man.”

  
He hesitated a moment, struggling with something. Color spread across his cheeks. He put his hands on Byleth’s shoulders.

  
“That said, you never have to…if he ever tries to—” Her father looked away, sighing deeply, like he had when they had been asked to return to the monastery with the Knights and house leaders. Something left him in the exhale, and he bent slightly, still not meeting her eyes. “Just…remember your training. And your dagger.”

  
Byleth’s brow knit slowly. She was not certain of his meaning, but she did not know how to ask for clarification, and her father already seemed so uncomfortable. Remembering her training and her dagger were simple enough requests. She nodded, and something in his posture eased. His hands returned to his sides.

  
Her father cleared his throat. “You seem well. Are you adjusting to life at the monastery?”

  
Byleth paused. She supposed she had been at Garreg Mach a few weeks already. She was still getting lost with regularity, but she had not walked into the wrong classroom since the initial instance, and most of the time she could recognize where she ended up. She was starting to grasp the calendar—six days of instruction, one day of rest—and her lesson plans were finding something of a rhythm: a short group instruction, then to the training grounds to practice.

  
The catalyst for the biggest change seemed to be the mock battle. Between the battle itself and the victory, something had thawed between Byleth and her students, cracking the tension like a frozen lake on a warm day. Already several of them, aside from Dimitri, had asked to eat with her again with such a keenness that Byleth did not know what to make of it. To her knowledge, no one besides her father had ever willingly spent time with her.

  
“I think so,” she answered.

  
“Oh? I didn’t expect that answer.” He smiled at her almost gently, a touch of sorrow bleeding through. It was a look she’d seen on him only seldom. Byleth studied the lines of her father’s face. He seemed suddenly very old. Something acrid caught in the back of her throat. “When we were mercenaries, I handled everything. Outside of battle, you didn’t have much contact with people, did you? I thought being thrown into a swarm of noble brats to teach would be a bit much for you. But I guess I had nothing to worry about.”

  
_Were?_ Panic welled in her. _Aren’t we mercenaries still?_

  
“You are a professor now,” Sothis said. “And your father, a Knight-Captain.”

  
_But we’re still mercenaries. We won’t be at the monastery forever._

  
“I suppose things might change again,” the girl in her head conceded.

  
Before Byleth could ask what that meant, her father spoke again.

  
“By the way, I heard about those bandits. Your first assignment is to take them out, right? That’s fairly routine for you by now, but don’t forget it’s the first real taste of battle for those brats. It’ll be tougher to sleep at night if you let one of your little pupils die, so stay vigilant and lead them well.”

  
Like a small cut being cleaned, irritation stung her. As though she would let the students die. The more Byleth considered it, the pricklier she felt. As though she had ever let anyone she had been asked to protect die.

  
Doubt clouded her, heavy and nebulous. She _hadn’t_ let anyone die…had she? To her discomfort, Byleth found she could not recall.

  
In battle, her father had never doubted her capability. Nor did he doubt her now—he doubted her students. Their youth. Their inexperience. Byleth shared his concern, especially after observing her house leader’s confidence. Even with only half the class in the mock battle, she had not been able to cover them all. She would not be able to protect the entire class when they were in the field.

  
“I wish I could offer you my support, but Lady Rhea won’t allow it,” her father said with a sigh. “For now, I’ll try to figure out what she wants from you. I don’t mind you settling into your life here, but don’t let your guard down. Ever.”

  
_Lady Rhea, the Archbishop._ Byleth tucked the name away like a sword into a sheath. Lately, every other word from her father seemed to involve Lady Rhea. He was suspicious of her. Reverent. Uneasy. Deferent. Byleth could not understand it. Her father had never once spoken to her of the Archbishop, or being a Knight-Captain, or even Garreg Mach itself, but it was increasingly obvious he had spent a great deal of time here at some point and that during that time, he had been deeply intertwined with the Archbishop. The bonds between them were so strong they were nearly visible, and so intricate that Byleth became tangled trying to unravel them.

  
And again, the phrasing. Settling into her life here? Her father and Lady Rhea both seemed to believe they would remain at the monastery for quite some time. Was this meant to be her first home, this strange place atop the mountains, with its myriad robed inhabitants and its ancient ceilings that stretched taller than any beast she had ever seen? Where a dozen students followed her every step with expectant smiles and a lingering fear? Where the goddess was always watching, alongside a woman who made mention of Byleth’s heart at every opportunity, like she knew of the long, pale scar that spanned the length of Byleth’s breastbone?

  
The ghost of a pain rose in her chest like a morning fog, and Byleth clutched her mother’s brooch, pressing it over the old wound. The cold of the metal soothed the feeling somewhat.

  
“Father, I…”

  
_I don’t want to be here_ , she thought. But what could she do? Her father was here, and being near him mattered more than her own discomfort, new as it was to her.

  
For his part, her father looked incredulous, something indescribable in his eyes.

  
“Byleth, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever—”

  
“Captain Jeralt!” rang out a voice from behind them. Byleth turned, hand reflexively on her dagger. The soldier in the doorway blanched and took a step backward.

  
“S-sorry! It’s urgent…”

  
“Damn it all,” her father growled. “I definitely didn’t miss this part of the job.”

  
Implying there were parts he did miss.

  
Her father covered his eyes with one hand and took a deep breath through his nose.

  
“Kid, I’ll…I’ll have to talk to you later.” He clapped Byleth on the back as he left. “Stay sharp.”

  
Alone in her father’s office, Byleth’s mind reeled. She leaned against a shelved wall and shut her eyes.

  
Sothis’s voice cut through the silence.

  
“He is right,” she said.

  
Byleth jumped. She had forgotten. She was not quite alone. Not anymore.

  
“It will be difficult to find peace should one of your pupils fall.”

  
_I will not be able to protect them all,_ Byleth thought back, a dull ache in her chest.

  
“You need not protect them if you teach them how to protect themselves,” Sothis said. “And if you learn some white magic in addition, there will be fewer injuries to contend with.”

  
_I could learn white magic_ , Byleth marveled. How had she not considered the option before?

  
She could hear the smile in Sothis’s voice. “Could, and shall, with my guidance.”

  
To heal instead of harm. The concept was so foreign, so novel, that she could not follow it any further in her mind. White magic. Healing. _Her_.

  
_How do I begin?_ Byleth asked Sothis.

  
“You begin…with me,” Sothis told her. “And a steady breath inward.”

* * *

The Blue Lions were back at the training grounds. The professor had barely breathed the mission before walking back out the classroom doors, giving them little time to react to the news, and even less time to respond as they hurried after her to the arena. When they arrived, they trickled towards the weapons rack without instruction; they knew it was what she would tell them to do. It was the first thing she usually said when they reached the training grounds. Already, Professor Eisner’s lessons were forming something of a routine: she would lecture briefly, and then they would follow her to somewhere they could put word into action. For today, she seemed content, or at least unconcerned enough, to let them choose the weapon of their preference. Dimitri tested a few lances and selected one that suited him before returning to the space in front of the professor.

  
“Dimitri,” she greeted, and something warmed in his chest. He couldn’t help but smile back.

  
“Hello, Professor.”

  
She fixed her gaze on him, eyes hard, and cocked her head. The warmth left him as Dimitri suppressed a shiver. The strength of such a look was well-suited to discipline, he thought wryly. Was she angry with him? Perhaps speaking with her father had changed her mind regarding taking his arm—Dimitri knew he shouldn’t have offered it, it was foolish enthusiasm, he would apologize as soon as she mentioned—

  
Then, with a look Dimitri could only describe as furtive, the professor glanced at the other students, leaned in close, and asked in a low voice, “Who is the tall redhead and the shorter boy with the dark hair?”

  
The contrast between her face and her gesture was so stark that for several moments, Dimitri could only blink, stunned into silence. Slowly, realization dawned on him. She wasn’t angry with him.

  
She was _anxious_.

  
And relying on him again to be both discreet and direct. By some small miracle, something he had said or done had earned him something of the professor’s trust, and he meant to keep it. Dimitri looked at his classmates.

  
For the tall redhead, she could only have meant Sylvain—Annette was not tall by any meaning of the word—who stood at the weapons rack, twirling a lance as Ingrid rolled her eyes and groaned at him. With an accusatory finger, she scolded him about treating weapons with respect. Sylvain held up a palm in defense, his other hand still idly spinning the lance.

  
The shorter boy with the dark hair had to be Felix. Though he was not the shortest boy in the class—Ashe had that distinction—he was the only member of the Blue Lions with dark hair, and at least a few inches shorter than Dimitri himself. Felix stood apart from everyone else with a wooden sword, completing warm-up exercises with silent concentration.

  
Dimitri leaned close to the professor and whispered, “Sylvain and Felix.”

  
She nodded and straightened up, expression inscrutable. To his disappointment, she did not thank him.

  
“Sylvain and Felix,” the professor repeated so loudly that Dimitri startled, the wood of his lance creaking beneath his fist. With a heavy sigh, he set the weapon aside, intent on grabbing another after the professor finished speaking. His two friends, as well as the rest of the class, faced the professor with nothing short of surprise.

  
She spoke without missing a beat, unaffected by their astonishment, “To the center. You are the demonstration today.”

  
Felix uttered a sound of disinterest but made his way to the center of the arena. Sylvain raised his eyebrows, slung his lance across his shoulders, and strolled over as the rest of the class retreated to the sidelines.

  
Why Sylvain and Felix? They were so familiar with each other’s fighting styles and personalities that he could practically predict the results: Felix would win, as Felix always did between the two of them. Sylvain was unlikely to put in any serious effort, and Felix trained every moment he could spare. The professor must have seen that by now. She hadn’t seen Sylvain and Felix fight each other before, but she had asked for them specifically. Perhaps she saw something Dimitri couldn’t yet.

  
“You have been taught to fight,” the professor said.

  
Sylvain chuckled. “I should say so, Professor. I mean, you’ve…seen us...”

  
He trailed off when he caught the professor’s glare.

  
“You have been taught to fight a certain way,” she elaborated. “I want you to fight to win by any means necessary.”

  
This time, Felix laughed, a short, dry bark. He bent his knees and pointed his sword at Sylvain. “Finally, an interesting assignment.”

  
“Begin at my word,” was the professor’s only response as she joined the rest of the class. As she approached Dimitri and the other Blue Lions, she said, “Watch them closely.”

  
And then she took a place at the end of their line, next to Dimitri, her attention focused forward.

  
Sylvain chuckled again and stretched. “Go easy on me, will you, Felix?”

  
Felix scoffed. “You’d better not hold back.”

  
“Begin,” the professor said.

  
Felix made the first move, as Dimitri expected, darting forward and then feinting to the right. Sylvain seemed unfazed by the maneuver, responding to Felix’s advance with a lazy step to the side. For a few moments, they moved like a pair of dancers, Sylvain weaving away from Felix’s relentless press with long, confident strides. Then, Felix disrupted the rhythm with a quick step forward and a downward slash, and the dance was ended by the crack of wood against wood. Sylvain blocked most of the oncoming attacks, and the ones he didn’t, he laughed off, verbally goading Felix into hitting him harder.

  
Dimitri sighed. Sylvain was going to get himself hurt if he kept that up. He couldn’t outmatch Felix—they had sparred over and over since childhood, and Sylvain had never once been the victor, especially not after Duscur—

  
A dull tension settled in his temples, fear like ice trickling down his ribs. Distantly, he heard the crackle of flame, though he knew there was no fire near enough to produce the sound.

  
_Not here. Not now._

  
Dimitri inhaled sharply. It had been a long time since merely thinking about Duscur produced such a strong reaction in him.

  
Dedue turned towards him, and to his consternation, so did the professor.

  
_Remain calm_ , Dimitri commanded himself. He clenched his fist. _Do not react._

  
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” Dedue asked.

  
“Of course,” came Dimitri’s practiced reply. “I just remembered something I’ve forgotten to take care of.”

  
Dedue did not look convinced—he never did, to Dimitri’s parallel rue and relief. That Dedue knew something of the truth was a small consolation, but he was just as likely to make a scene on Dimitri’s behalf if he believed it was required. And it was most certainly _not_ required. This reaction must have been because of the mission, he reasoned. He was simply caught off-guard by the idea of killing. Of his classmates killing. Of them… _being_ …

  
Forcibly, Dimitri pushed the echoing screams in his mind away, the pain of his headache growing as he did. He smiled at Dedue, the staccato beat of his heart now the only sound in his ears. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the professor tilt her head only slightly and narrow her eyes.

  
_“She can see right through you,”_ a voice inside him whispered. _“She knows you are exactly what she is: a cold-blooded killer.”_

  
_I’m not—_

  
A curse from Sylvain stole his attention. Felix had not only backed Sylvain into a corner—he had knocked the lance from Sylvain’s hands, disarming him entirely. Felix smirked.

  
“Why am I not surprised?” he asked, his sword slicing towards Sylvain. Sylvain twisted to the side, only narrowly avoiding the blow.

  
“Guess this’ll shock you then,” Sylvain replied. He turned, hands glowing from the ball of fire forming between them. This close, Felix did not have time to dodge. The Lions gasped. In the nick of time, Felix brought his training sword up to block, then promptly dropped the burning wood and surged forward. He swung one arm, then the other, his fist connecting first with Sylvain’s chin and then, with a flash of light and an audible _crunch_ , the other with Sylvain’s nose.

  
Sylvain swore loudly, crumpling to his knees. Even with his hands covering his face, Dimitri could see the dark blood pouring out. The Blue Lions rushed forward, Mercedes making a beeline for Sylvain. She urged them all politely back before kneeling in front of Sylvain with a kind smile and a soothing word. Felix stalked off, shaking his hands out as he went.

  
Dimitri exhaled. That was brutal. He hadn’t seen his friends fight so intently since childhood. That kind of brawl was usually reserved for slights against someone’s honor. And that was the only thing he could think to call it—a brawl. Felix used to get in fights like that all the time. Dimitri could almost hear little Felix crying, _“Take that back!”_ as Sylvain ducked out of the way and laughed, before Glenn cut in—

  
_Before Glenn was cut to pieces in Duscur._

  
Dimitri bit the inside of his cheek, hard. His temples throbbed. This was getting ridiculous. He was being silly and sentimental. He did not have time to lose his focus like this, nor to reminisce on the past; the present allowed for neither. He took a moment to collect himself and surveyed the scene.

  
Sylvain’s nose was definitely broken. Thanks to Mercedes, the bleeding had stopped, but the huge welts around his eyes would take some time to heal. Nearby, Felix paced, still shaking his hands and grumbling. Dimitri regarded him with confusion—then realized with a start that Felix must have burnt his hands from the fireball. Unlike Dimitri’s similar maneuver in the mock battle, Felix’s hands were unarmored, and despite the speed of Felix’s reaction, the damage had been done. Dimitri looked back to Mercedes in the hopes of catching her attention, but she was still healing Sylvain, offering gentle consolations as he sat forward, nose pinched and complaining.

  
“If you trained more, you’d lose less,” Felix quipped.

  
“Shut up, Felix!” Sylvain groaned, his voice nasal. “Did you have to hit me in the face? I’m never going to get a date looking like this.”

  
Again, Felix smirked. “I daresay it’s an improvement.”

  
“You’re an ass, Felix. Although, I _could_ play up the sympathy angle…”

  
“Disgusting,” Felix muttered.

  
Helplessly, Dimitri turned to the professor to apologize. When he said the Blue Lions were a “lively bunch,” he hadn’t expected this much turbulence. The professor stood a ways apart, brow furrowed in what looked like concentration. She held her hands out in front of her, palms up. At the tips of her fingers, Dimitri saw the tell-tale illumination of white magic.

  
For the second time this lesson, surprise silenced him. Had she been able to heal this entire time? Then why didn’t she do so in their first combat, or the mock battle, or even mention that she could? Why wasn’t she helping now?

  
The light at her fingertips flickered and fizzled out. The professor wrinkled her nose. With a deepening frown, she curled her hands into fists and crossed her arms.

  
_She doesn’t know how to heal,_ Dimitri realized. She hadn’t healed them earlier because she couldn’t—her skill was insufficient to do so. Had it always been? Or was she trying to learn…for them? An idea hit him, the implications of which left him thunderstruck.

  
She was concerned about their mission. She wanted to learn their names. She was studying white magic.

  
She did not want them to fall in battle.

  
The Ashen Demon, a reputed mercenary, feared across Fódlan for her frigid, unflinching demeanor in combat, was learning white magic to protect her students, whose names she did not even know. Quiet appreciation bloomed in him in tandem with wonder. It had been easy to get caught up in the severity of her expressions, to read her ambivalence as apathy. All that Dimitri had known of her before she became his professor were whispers of her affect and skill. Those, he could corroborate. But no one had mentioned the other side of her he was starting to see—the one that dove in front of another to shield them; the one that saw every injury, every detail, and promptly addressed it; the one that spoke softly but directly about the hesitations she wasn’t expected to have.

  
It was almost like she was two people at once.

  
And perhaps…a desperate hope flickered in him. Perhaps it was possible to be two different people simultaneously. To have two sides of oneself—one soft and compassionate, the other harsh and violent. Perhaps those two sides could even coexist, and a person could just _be_. But how to reconcile them?

  
He cast a sidelong glance at the professor. Arms still crossed, she looked back at him the same, indirect way.

  
Perhaps Dimitri had been right in his assessment of her, even if his first impression had been incomplete.

  
Perhaps he was more similar to the professor than he thought.

  
Perhaps there was even more to learn from her than he could anticipate.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Gosh, it's been awhile. FINALLY SOME VERY EXCITING THINGS ARE HAPPENING. Byleth and Dimitri are paying verrrrry close attention to one another, starting to rely on each other, and even establishing a casual touching. It is fun to write them and watch them grow. <3 
> 
> Title inspiration is so many layers of heart references—what is inside Byleth's heart? Or Dimitri's? And neither of them are doing anything to their heart's content at the moment. For music, MCR's "Gun." really encapsulates Dimitri's feelings for me, and for Byleth, Of Monsters and Men's "Vulture, Vulture."
> 
> Thank you again for reading! If you liked this, please leave me a comment! <3 If you didn't, please don't tell me ^_^'' I hope to update the next chapter a little more quickly. Thanks for sticking around!!


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